


Unsalvageable

by OhMyFreddy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brief Dean/OC, Established Relationship, Gunplay, M/M, Mentions of Sam/OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMyFreddy/pseuds/OhMyFreddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening becomes unsalvageable when the cocking of Sam’s gun startles the guy who has Dean’s dick in his mouth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsalvageable

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of rediscovering and listening to Third Eye Blind's "Losing a Whole Year" over and over during a five-hour drive between states. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!

The evening becomes unsalvageable when the cocking of Sam’s gun startles the guy who has Dean’s dick in his mouth.

The guy whirls to face Sam where he’s standing at the foot of the bed. His feet are getting tangled in the sheets, but his kicking is useless when his focus is on the pistol in his face.

He starts stammering, “Wh-whoa, man! It’s just me, remember? I’m Cody! Fr-from the bank? We talked this morn-“

“I remember, Cody,” Sam says coldly, and adjusts his aim from Cody’s left eye to his right.

Cody swallows and tears his gaze from Sam’s shining Taurus to silent Dean. Dean is propped by his shoulders against the headboard, fingers laced behind his head now, instead of, earlier, through Cody’s blond hair above his lap.

“So what the fuck?” hisses Cody.

Dean shrugs and won’t meet Cody’s eyes. “Looks like I got a hypocritical boyfriend.”

Sam growls, and Cody swivels his head between the two of them. “You said you were work-“

Sam interrupts him again. “Office romance. How the fuck am I a hypocrite, Dean?”

Dean loses all traces of nonchalance when Sam addresses him. He lurches up from the headboard, balling his fists in the sheets, and thrusts his chin out at Sam in the most aggressive pose he can manage from the bed.  “I know you fucked that girl in Carlsbad,” he spits.

Sam immediately rolls his eyes, and spreads his arms in exasperation. Cody slumps in relief with the pistol no longer trained on him.

“All she did was blow me, Dean! And, she was so terrible, I stole her wallet while she did it!”

Dean mimics the spread of Sam’s arms and smirks. “Then it’s fair play.”

Sam bares his teeth and jerks the gun back on Cody, who twitches backward with a squeak. “Put on some goddamn pants, Cody, and if I catch you even looking at my brother again, I’ll blow your brains out.”

Cody’s mouth drops open in bewilderment, but terror drives him to follow Sam’s orders with gusto, and he’s free from the sheets and half-dressed and swearing under his breath and scrabbling out of the motel room in just seconds.

As soon as the door slams behind him, Dean’s bellowing, “Nice job, Sam! How long you think we got before he calls the cops, huh?”

Sam takes a deep breath and uncocks his Taurus. Then he aims it threateningly at his brother. “Did he fuck you?”

Dean doesn’t acknowledge the gun. He stares angrily at Sam and shakes his head.

Sam jabs the gun at Dean for emphasis. “I _didn’t_ fuck her, either.”

Dean just shakes his head again and collapses back on to the mattress and stares at the ceiling. Sam sighs and lets his pistol fall gently onto the nearby desk. He turns around and sits next to Dean’s feet on the bed. He doesn’t touch them, but places his hand on the bed so that his arm bends down over Dean’s ankles. After a moment, Dean slides free of the sheets, and is the first to begin packing up. It’s all the contrition either of them can muster tonight.

The next day, stopped at an endless train crossing, Dean says, “I’m sorry I took it that far. Let it spiral out like that again. I know I- I know that I test your temper.”

He faces Sam, and Sam’s already angling across the seat to kiss him, inhaling Dean’s breath like he was drowning without it. The train continues clicking by, and Sam gives his own apology to Dean with one hand gripping his skull and the other clutching his ribs, pressing his lips and tongue onto Dean’s with increasingly lecherous fervor.

They’re breathing heavily, but break apart and find their ways back to their own sides of the Impala when the crossing guard lifts. Sam continues to stare at Dean. “I’m not blameless,” he mutters.

Dean nods once in acknowledgement, doesn’t press for elaboration or an explanation equal to the truly impressive admission of guilt that he had just managed to choke out. They drop it, leave the jagged pieces of their love and job and family and lies and sex and guilt and codependency in the floorboards of their beloved Chevrolet for them to tiptoe around for as long as they can until one of them inevitably shoves the other down into the shards. Grinding the edges into his brother with snark and punches and jealousy and screaming.

But the same mouths that scream can laugh and kiss, the same fists will uncurl to caress and arouse.

It was one night. Again. They can salvage the rest.


End file.
